


Introducing Dean

by Winchester1989



Series: Special Dean [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: And Mary a good mom, Basically they're a happy family, Brotherly Affection, Brothers, Caretaker Sam, Cuddling, Dean is a little sweetheart, Dean needs all the love and protection, Drawing, F/M, Family care, Handholding, Hugging, John is a good dad in this one, Mental Health Issues, Mentally handicapped Dean, Simple Dean, Special Dean, bathtime, mental disability
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-27
Updated: 2017-12-27
Packaged: 2019-02-22 14:54:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13169274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Winchester1989/pseuds/Winchester1989
Summary: In this part I introduce you to Dean: 14 years old and mentally handicapped.His little brother Sam, 10, takes him to the park but some bullies come and destroy the fun. Sam takes Dean home where his parents can help make Dean happy again (and make Sam happy again, too)*********************************************About the series:This series will contain oneshots and short stories (two or three chapters) about Dean, who is mentally handicapped. I kind of molded him after the character 'Arnie' from the movie 'What's eating Gilbert Grape', played by Leonardo DiCaprio. I added in some more mannerisms and tics and took away others.We see Dean growing up in every part and how eventually Sam is going to be his caretaker. Dean will go on dates, buy his own pie at a bakery with his first pocket-money and meet a blue-eyed boy with autism somewhere down the road, that will steal his heart (and eventually, his pie).





	Introducing Dean

**Author's Note:**

> First part is Sam's POV (1st person POV, not something I usually write, but it felt good to do so for this story.), after that it's back to 'normal'. 
> 
> Sam is 10, Dean is 14.  
> Trigger warning for someone using the word 'retarded'. I hate that word.
> 
> This will be part of a series which will each feature one shots or stories with 1-3 chapters in this AU (eventual slight Destiel).
> 
> I have a thing for mentally challenged Dean, so, I wrote this (is that weird? Well, it's FanFiction so it could be a lot weirder, I know). Plus I also have a thing for John and Mary _not_ being bad parents for a change, so here we are :).

I was ten years old, and I already understood that my big brother Dean wasn’t like the other kids. When Dean was happy, he was really, _really_   happy. When Dean was sad, he was really, _really_   sad. Dean never hurt anyone. When anyone tried to hurt Dean, he would cry and run away. Most of the time he would go to Mommy, but sometimes he would come to me.

 

We were at the park today, and I was playing with Kevin. We were making a huge sandcastle. Dean was playing on the swings by himself, and I promised mom that I would make sure me and Dean would be home before 5 pm. I kept checking my watch, because I understood how much responsibility my mom gave me. It was my job to keep an eye on Dean, my job to make sure he got home okay. I jumped when I heard Dean cry. Looking up, I saw some boys had pushed him off the swing and he’d fallen face down.

 

“Dean!” I yelled, running over as fast as I could.

 

Dean was trying to get up, but he had always been a bit slow. “S-Sammy, they, t-they push… pushed me!” Dean cried out, finally standing up. As soon as I was close enough, Dean grabbed me for a tight hug. Dean was a lot taller, but he tried to bend down so he could hide his face in my neck.

 

I patted Dean’s back and glared at the boys who were watching us, their faces full of surprise. When I knew Dean had calmed down a bit, I let him go. Dean grabbed my hand and stayed beside me, looking down to the ground.

 

“Don’t you ever touch him again!” I shouted. “He would never hurt anyone so why hurt him, huh?!”

 

One of the boys stepped forward. “I’m sorry. We didn’t know he was…” he mumbled.

 

“Come on, he’s a retard!” Another boy shouted, and I could feel Dean tightening his grip, always getting upset whenever someone said that word.

 

“No he’s not,” I replied, icily calm. “He’s special. And he deserves to be on this playground just as much as you do!”

 

I turned around then, Dean following me, still holding my hand. I walked slow, knowing Dean didn’t walk as fast as I did, even though his legs were longer and his steps were larger.

 

Walking by Kevin, I said to him we were going home, even though it wasn’t time yet. I knew the walk home would calm me down and that’s what I needed; I needed to be there for my big brother.

We swung our hands and I hummed under my breath. Dean gave me a look and a big grin; he liked it when he heard something he recognized. Soon we were both humming a Beatles song and before we knew it, we were home.

 

We both took off our shoes at the back door, Dean placing them side by side meticulously. Only when he was satisfied did he follow me through the door.

 

Dean saw Dad sitting in his recliner and tried to run over (Dean running was more like taking huge, wobbly steps. Dean was better when he was slower.), making Dad grin.

 

“There’s ma boy!” he said, and I smiled. Dad could be grumpy sometimes, but with Dean he was always kind.

 

He’d explained that, once.

_“Sam,” he’d said. “If I’m ever cross with you or try to make a point, it’s because I want you to see it as an opportunity to learn. To improve yourself, to make yourself a better man. You know Dean is special and it would break my heart to see Dean cry over something I said. Something I could’ve prevented. We’ve got to be careful with what we say around Dean, because he just doesn’t understand. You get that, don’t you?”_

 

The thing is; I did get it. Even though I was ‘only’ ten, I was already a lot smarter than Dean. I absolutely didn't think I was better than Dean in any way, but I knew Dean was special. Some called it simple, others called it a low IQ, stupid people called it retarded.

 

Dean all but threw himself onto Dad, giggling when Dad tickled him.

“Oh boy you’re getting heavy son! What did you eat this afternoon, huh?”

 

Dean smiled and threw his arms around Dad’s neck. “Mommy’s s-sandwiches!” he exclaimed.

 

Dad rubbed Dean’s back and chuckled. “Mommy’s been spoiling you, Dean.”

 

“No she hasn’t, I just asked for them, and she g-gave me!” Dean replied seriously while he was trying to fold himself up to fit better in his Dad’s lap.

 

“That’s what I said. Spoiling you.” Dad smiled. “Heyyy, don’t do that, you know you shouldn’t.” Dad told Dean, who was trying to put some of Dad’s shirt into his mouth.

 

That was the other thing; Dad called it an ‘oral fixation’, I called it ‘putting stuff in his mouth’. Dean was always trying to chew on things, mainly his shirtsleeves or the clothes of the person he was sitting on (another thing; Dean rarely sat alone. He enjoyed full body contact and if he couldn’t have that, he would like to hold your hand. Indefinitely. Dean didn’t do well on his own.).

They’d tried giving him a pacifier but he chewed on them, and they were broken within a week. So it was usually clothes or his own fingers.

 

I love Dean, and I always will. There’s a girl that lives on our street named Charlie. She said to me once, “As soon as you meet Dean, you never want to let him go. You want to protect him from all the bullies in the world. If I could keep him in my backpack and keep him safe, I would.”

 

She was right; if I could keep Dean safe, no matter what it took, I would. My parents told me that although they never wanted me to feel as if it was an obligation to take care of Dean in the rare moments they couldn’t, they couldn’t deny that it was something that needed to be done. You couldn’t _abandon_ Dean. It was a no-go. But I have never seen it as an obligation. I think I always knew Dean was different, even before I understood what that meant. I always knew, in the back of my mind, that when my parents were gone, I’d be the one to take Dean in. In a heartbeat I would.

As I sat down on the sofa opposite my Dad and Dean, I sighed. “They pushed him off the swing,” I said. “At the park.”

 

Dad frowned and looked at me before looking at Dean, who’d gone back to chewing on Dad’s shirt.

“Dean? What happened?”

 

Dean looked around the room but didn’t reply. “Dean?” Dad asked again.

 

My brother groaned, which was never a good sign. As expected, Dean raised his hand to try and slap himself on his temple. He did that when he was frustrated or couldn’t get the words out. When he was younger Dean used to wear a helmet for that, but he’d been doing really great the last couple of years. I thought the helmet looked stupid anyways and I was glad to see it gone.

 

Dad gently took his wrist before he could even start. “No no no, we don’t hurt ourselves baby, you know that.”

 

Dean groaned louder and tried to hide deeper into Dad’s hold, trying to get his arm free.

 

“Sam?” Dad asked.

 

“There were these boys, and… I don’t know. He was on the swing just minding his own business, but they pushed him off. He fell on the ground, but I don’t think he hurt himself. I was in the sandbox with Kevin, but I went over as soon as I heard him cry.”

 

Dad mumbled something to Dean, who had put his head on Dad’s shoulder.

 

“You did good in taking him home, Sam.” Dad said. I smiled; it wasn’t often that Dad gave me praise.

 

“Where’s mom?” I asked, curious. Mom would want to know about this.

 

“She’s in the kitchen, want to go get her?” Dad asked, still stroking Dean’s back. Dean had stopped groaning and had his eyes closed.

 "Sure."

 

Walking into the kitchen, I found Mom making dinner.

 

“Hey mom.”

 

“Hey sweetheart. You’re home early, everything go okay?”

 

“Couple of bullies… but I told 'em off.”

 

Mom frowned. “Are you okay? How’s Dean?”

 

“He’s okay,” I said as I helped set the kitchen table. “He’s cuddling with Dad. Again.”

 

Mom laughed and ruffled my hair. “Well, Dean’s a cuddlebug, we all know that. Did they say mean things, or…?”

 

“They pushed him of the swing, Mom! He cried, so I took him home. Why are they so mean?” I asked as I set down the last plate. I could hear Mom walking over and prepared myself for a speech, but all I got was a hug.

 

“Some kids are just that. Mean. Nothing we can do about it sometimes. But you did good, Sam. Thank you.”

 

“It’s okay.” I mumbled. Mom took my face in her hands and gave me a kiss on my forehead. “I’m going to see Dean, you finish setting the table, okay?”

 

I nodded. Me being alone in the kitchen meant I could snack on the garlic bread.

 

~*~

 

Mary walked into the living room to find her husband and oldest son asleep. Dean was curled up against John, two fingers in his slack mouth, drool coming out. John had his broad arms around Dean’s back, holding him against him, safe and warm. His head was resting back, soft snores emanating the room. Walking over she flicked him in the ear, earning a snort and a confused ‘wha?’ before John realized it was Mary that woke him up.

 

Dean was still asleep, dead to the world after spending most of his afternoon outside.

 

Mary smiled. “No sleeping John, not yet. Maybe you should go to bed the same time Dean does.”

 

Dean went to bed at 8 pm; it had always been this early and that wasn’t about to change. Dean needed a lot of sleep and he always went easy, even if he had slept during the day.

 

“Nah, my little bug is the only one that sleeps that early,” he responded, taking Dean’s fingers out of the boy’s mouth. “Did Sam tell you what happened?”

 

Mary sighed and crouched down in front of them. She stroked Dean’s hair. “Yeah. Told him there were always going to be bullies but I’m glad Sam took them away from the situation. Don’t want things to escalate and I definitely don’t want Dean associating the park with negative things.”

 

John repositioned himself a bit and pulled Dean up higher, making sure the boy wouldn’t slide off.

“Sam did good, but sometimes I worry we’re putting too much on him, Mary. Sam never asked for this.”

 

“Sam loves Dean just as much as we do.  We don’t see Dean as a burden and neither does he John, so stop it.” Mary scolded, earning a sigh from her husband.

 

“I know… I know. Just don’t understand why anybody would want to hurt our Dean.”

 

Dean started to wake, snuffling and moaning until he opened his eyes. Mary had stopped carding her fingers through his hair and had instead taken his hand. Dean squeezed it and mumbled a ‘m-mommy’ before smiling at her, his head still resting on John’s chest.

 

“Hi pumpkin. Welcome home,” she cooed, smiling when Dean grinned at her.

 

“W-went on s-swing, mommy! W-went so high!” he said, trying to sit up. John gave him a little nudge and Dean was able to sit forward, letting Mary take both his hands.

 

“Did you? And was it fun?”

 

“Y-yeah, was fun! U-until, they, t-they pushed! Stupid, b-but S-sam h-h-helped,” Dean stuttered.

“S-sam hero! S-sam bat-t-man!”

 

Mary saw Sam hovering in the doorway. “Yeah,” she smiled, “Sam is batman. Aren’t you, Sam?”

 

Sam shuffled in and Dean shrieked when he saw. “I-is S-sam!! Hero Sam, h-hero!”

 

John laughed as he pulled Dean back in again, rocking him side to side. “We have some time to make a drawing for Sam after dinner, would you like that son?”

 

Dean giggled and tried to bounce up and down. “Y-yeah! D-drawing for super-h-hero S-sam!”

 

“Yeah! Drawing!” John repeated, then giving Dean a kiss on the back of his head.

 

“Now let’s get up, I think it’s time for dinner.”

 

John kept a hold on Dean’s waist as he got up, then took the boy by the hand to go into the kitchen. This was normal; Dean always needed to touch someone and by now it would just be plain weird if Dean didn’t.

 

Mary and Sam filled everyone’s plates. Sam helped Dean eat, making sure Dean’s left hand was holding on to the fork just right so he could get it in his mouth by himself. Dean’s right hand was occupied; his pinky finger was connected to John’s pinky finger, curled around each other. No matter how small the touch, it needed to be there and this was the easiest way.

 

Dinner time was back to normal; they would eat, have dessert, and then Dean would have 30 minutes of ‘free time’ in which he would make his drawing for Sam. Dean drew; a lot. Sam’s room was covered in them and so was the kitchen and half the living room wall; Mary never threw anything away and they had boxes full of Dean’s drawings stored in the attic.

 

After free time, John would give Dean his bath after which both John and Mary would do the night time ritual.

Sam would either help or stay downstairs. His bedtime was between 8.30 and 9pm, and this meant he always had a bit of private time with his parents. Even though he loved Dean, he really liked the time with just his parents and John and Mary were well aware of that. They encouraged it, too; Sam was never neglected, but they all knew a little one-on-one time never hurt anybody.

 

Dean didn’t want his mother to bathe him; it had been an issue early on. The only ones that were ‘allowed’ were either John or Sam, ‘because t-theyre boys t-too’.

Sam did it too, if John was still at work or too tired. It wasn’t a hard task at all; you just had to give Dean instructions and stay by his side. The only thing you really had to do was fill the tub, wash his hair (Dean did the rest) and empty the tub, then help Dean with the buttons on his pajama top. Dean could wash and dry himself, although dressing was difficult if it involved zippers, buttons or laces.

 

They had tried getting Dean to do it himself; John had filled the tub for him, only to walk into the bathroom half an hour later and find Dean sitting on the cold bathroom floor in his underwear.

He didn’t understand what type of actions to undertake; if you didn’t tell him, he wouldn’t do it. After that incident someone always stayed in the bathroom with him, telling him what to do and in which order.

 

Dean was usually distracted enough by bath time that he didn’t need much touch, but they usually held hands anyway. This evening was no different.

 

After Dean gave Sam his Batman drawing the boy nearly dragged John upstairs, excited to get in the tub.

 

“Listen up soldier!” John said. “Innn the bathroom and clothes off!” he mock-ordered, Dean grinning in reply. He still had his hand in John’s and squeezed it when he replied.

 

Dean managed to shakily lift his other arm and put his hand on his forehead. “Y-yes S-sir!” he shrieked, giggling as he always did when they played ‘soldiers’.

 

John squeezed back and ushered Dean into the bathroom, where Mary had already set out Dean’s pajamas and a towel.

 

“Clothessss offfff,” John ordered, smiling when he saw Dean was trying to do so as fast as he could.

 

Dean had a hard time letting go, but he needed to if he wanted to get undressed. As soon as he was though, he held on to John’s hand again, who helped him into the tub. When Dean sat down he smiled, all the plastic boats surrounding him making him a very happy boy.

 

John was quick to wash Dean’s hair; the boy didn’t really like it so they would always work fast.

When it was done, John ordered Dean to wash his body, presenting him with a wash cloth and some soap.

 

“Time to scrub, soldier. Don’t disappoint me now!” he ordered, smiling when he saw Dean was trying to reach all the parts of his back.

 

When Dean was done and the water was getting cold, he helped Dean step out of the tub, making sure he wouldn’t slip. Handing Dean the towel, he instructed the boy as he did every evening.

“Hair first, Dean. That’s right. Now the front, do your arms first and then your belly. Now make a cape!”

 

Dean made a cape out of the towel and rubbed it side to side, drying his back.

“Now the legs, frrrront first. Noww the back of your legs. Yourrr privates, private.” (Dean always laughed about that one.)

 

“Lay the towel down soldierrr, here is some underwear.”

 

Dean put on his boxers and then stepped into the pajama pants. Putting on the pajama top he turned to his father, who buttoned it up for him. John ruffled Dean’s towel-dry hair and gave him his toothbrush, toothpaste already on it.

Instructing his boy on how to brush his teeth and rinse, they were done five minutes later.

 

Mary was already waiting in Dean’s room, laying on the right side of the bed. Dean let go of John’s hand and walked over slowly, before crawling in and laying down. John got down on the left side, so Dean was in the middle.

 

“I-in the middle so y-you can sh-share,” Dean mumbled, as he did every evening. It was the last thing he said everyday.

 

“So we can share, that’s right.” Mary replied, before opening the story book. Dean had his right hand entangled with John’s and his eyes were focused on the picture book. It didn’t take long until his eyes started to droop and he went heavy, falling asleep between them. Mary finished the book, as they always did, no matter when Dean fell asleep.

 

After getting up, John always made sure his boy was comfortable, pulling him down and making sure the pillow was under his head. He grabbed Dean’s blankie (one of John’s old t-shirts) and put it in the boy’s hands before turning on the night light. Mary was waiting by the door and they walked downstairs together, finding Sam on the sofa.

 

“Dean go to bed okay?”

 

Mary smiled as she sat down next to him, pulling him in so they could cuddle. Sam never really initiated those, but she knew he was secretly just as much of a cuddlebug as his big brother.

“Fell asleep right away. How are you Sam?”

 

“I’m good,” Sam mumbled, blushing when he felt his dad sitting down next to them. Oh God this was going to be a _family cuddle_. And just as he thought, not even two seconds later Mary pushed Sam away so he fell into John’s waiting arms, then followed herself. John got his big arms around the two of them and laughed. “Don’t deny it Sam! You love it!”

 

Sam grumbled but didn’t do anything to stop them; too content with his parents being in a happy mood.

 

 


End file.
